Harry Potter: Fiendish wizards and where they hide
by Strikeflash
Summary: There have been many stories of Grindelwalds, death eaters, and he who shall not be named. This is not one of those stories. This is a story of smaller evils. The insidious, the desperate, the selfish wizards who misuse their magic as easily as they breathe. The ones that are beneath the ministry of magic, yet walk among us. These are their stories.


p data-p-id="7649d88776af0d961421ba78e860bd6c"I once asked my mother why I could never tell anyone I was a wizard. To which she'd reply "Because you're special.". She never told me why I didn't get to attend school with other wizards, but I didn't mind. No one could teach magic like my mom. In the morning I went to school with the muggles, by noon I'd learn about the magical heritage of my mother and why she let it go for a muggle like my father, by night I'd dream about the great wizard I'd grow up to be. After all, I was special./p  
p data-p-id="592c6f4b7e91b75476081633f6020940"Everything changed when mother started getting sick. Father spoke less, dark days seemed darker, and every second felt so much shorter. Yet, she smiled and continued to teach me. I don't know if she really believed in me, or if she was preparing me for the inevitable; but she gave me her wand. When I asked why she replied "I'm not just giving it to you. It chose you, because it knows you're special. You'll always be special."/p  
p data-p-id="327f6e40930cc056d56ce01821c966b0"My mother died shortly after that. Though she did her best to prepare us, the hole she left consumed every modicum of joy in our lives. Even bedridden it seemed like she'd always be there to smile, say everything is alright, tell us that she loves us, and tell me that I'm special. Then all too suddenly she was gone forever. Looking at her resting in a casket at the funeral felt like a dream. I wanted to believe it was all a bad dream, and I'd wake screaming and everything would be okay./p  
p data-p-id="042468168d295c7fd931cb2b5e96be2e""It's not your fault." father said, "I should've never expected things to be normal. It never is with you people."At the time I wondered what he meant by that, but a few days after the funeral it became clear. Ever since he found out it existed he'd had a distaste for magic. When she taught me he'd question the safety of every spell, every potion, every story of the wizarding world. He feared magic would come into his life and take everything from him. I guess when he lost her he could only blame himself for letting her and her magic into his life in the first place. Where did that leave me? A burden. A constant reminder of a loss he blamed himself for. I knew he was just hurting, like me. But in the back of my mind I felt as if he'd begun to hate me. So I practiced my magic elsewhere./p  
p data-p-id="74302be2afb36f41a5dddb667b9612d1"By day I went to school with the muggles. Every day I sat impassively waiting for the bell to ring. My grades fell, the people I once considered friends faded away into the sea of strangers, and eventually I was alone./p  
p data-p-id="abac672067e3b077669e01204d445e08"By noon I hid in some secluded locations and practiced the spells she taught me, read the stories she never got the chance to tell, until one day magic stopped feeling magical./p  
p data-p-id="5853bfca6fabc61143930b8ce59621a8"By night I laid in bed thinking of better times. Before our family was broken, before I felt so lifeless, before magic became meaningless. My only reprieve was looking at my wand and remembering that things were good and hoping I'd finally wake from this bad dream./p  
p data-p-id="829e4e5a036377d00af765417d4c4386"Empty days turned into empty years until eventually my father threw out all of my mother's things. "This isn't healthy." He'd say. To me it felt like she'd only died yesterday and he was trying to get rid of her. He took everything she ever left and he put them in a box. Then he moved on. He smiled more and made friends all the while he still barely spoke to me: the only part of her he couldn't throw away./p  
p data-p-id="0b58d5c3f9b99a085bfc01254952283a"I carried my wand everywhere with me to keep it away from dad. Sometimes I'd look at it, hold it, make sure it was still just the way she left it. I didn't see the problem with that, but my peers did. They couldn't understand how important it was to me even if they wanted to. To them it was just a stick, and I was different. They called me strange, weird, creepy and eventually I began to believe them./p  
p data-p-id="0a7f9e20ad506ab0c2c87d3fcac75ba1"One day two boys from school stopped me on my home. They wanted to take what they thought was just the weird kid's stick and parade it around school. Was I really so abhorrent that my most prized possession was a worthy trophy for these two? First they swore they'd give it back unharmed if I just lent it to them. I considered it. It'd get them to leave me alone, make me seem less weird, and if they didn't keep their word it's not like I used it anyway. I took out my wand but found I couldn't bring myself to let go. They demanded it, they threatened to snap it after taking it by force if I didn't hand it over. Under the threat of violence I couldn't let go of the wand I didn't use anymore. emWhy? Because it made me feel special?/em Thoughts filled my head like static emWhat's so special about me? My mother is dead, my father hates me, I'm a freak, I have no one, and my wand is just a stick. father was right, this isn't healthy. Throw the stick away, throw those happy memories away, throw her away. Just move on/em. Even with the cacophony of thoughts quivering my weak mind I refused to let it go./p  
p data-p-id="015f876c436e8ce21b7dc86c8643c482"One of the boys attempted to snatch the wand. I felt a snap as the memory of the first spell I learned came to mind. "I'm not perfect, and because of my mistakes people may try to hurt you. If I'm not there to save you and anyone tries to hurt you, this spell will protect you. Just promise me you will only use it to stay safe." My mother said. After months of practice, I finally perfected it, and she said "I knew you'd master it. And there's so much more for you to master, because you're special." I don't know if it was the memory or the boy touching my wand with his filthy hands that made me cry, but as the tears rolled down my cheeks I thoughtlessly uttered the words she taught me./p  
p data-p-id="51d03bd6b3664643cd38ea06b9b6c007""Avada Kedavra." There was a green flash, then the boy dropped to the ground on his face. Suddenly everything was clear to me. I wasn't special because I was told so as a child. I was special because I could do things that most people couldn't. The other boy stared at his friend's lifeless body in confusion. He didn't know what he had witnessed. How could he? He wasn't special. He was just a muggle. My eyes met his and with the instinct of quarry he turned to run. "Avada Kedavra" The green light flashed, swallowing the boy. He fell like a marionette freed of his strings./p  
p data-p-id="77b35edae7e1cc0a8c0c28dc4ae22532"For the first time since her death the world felt real again. Alone at last. Anything and anyone that hurt me would disappear just like those boys. I'm not like father. I can simply kill my problems. I don't have to move on, because I'm special./p 


End file.
